#wearing that stupid thing. i absolutely lost it when it started doing that

[egglands-worst]

*snifsnorfsnifsneefsnorf*

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Wearing Their Clothes

Requested: i followed you for succession and currently im the boys brainrotted so you wouldnt believe my excitement when i realised you wrote for the boys too!!!!! i want to request maybe hc on how the boys would react to reader wearing their sweater/tshirts - anon

A/N: My love, the brain rot is so real!!! When I tell you I have an entire folder of The Boys edits, I mean I am kicking my feet and giggling at these people covered in blood lol. Thank you for requesting! Please feel free to again, I absolutely love writing preferences! I hope you like it!!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜

Butcher absolutely adores you wearing his coat. It drives him wild. It started one night where you two were alone, the group split up. While everyone else had their own jobs, you and Butcher were on surveillance. It was freezing out. He noticed the goosebumps on your arms. You swore you were fine, but he could tell you were putting up a front. Oi, just take it. Not wanting to blow your cover and fight, you put his coat around your shoulders, thanking him. It's a long night and you take shifts. When he catches you curled in a ball, his coat wrapped around you, it tugs at his heartstrings. Something about this image of you just makes him melt. After that, he's eager to see it again. Realizing this, you never turn down his offer. Now you basically have 50/50 custody. You like it. It's warm and worn, but it also smells like him and, when you're apart, remains a reminder that he's always looking out for you. Both M.M. and Frenchie are full of jokes when they catch you wearing it, but Annie and Hughie find it endearing.

Hughie loves that you wear his t-shirts and hates it. Not only do you look better in them than him, which is annoying enough, and now everyone finds them funny now that you're wearing them, but now he can never find the one shirt he wants to wear. It's either on your body or in your closet. Of course he would never stop you, he doesn't want you to stop, but he does wish there was a little bit more of a compromise. You wore it the first time you slept over. Your shirt had been discarded somewhere you couldn't find, but Hughie's was right there. He tried not to show it, he tried not to get caught smiling, but he was way too obvious. Something about seeing you in his shirt made his day, his life. It never gets old. When it's laundry day, most of your clothes end up being his. Now he has double the laundry. Still, it's worth it. His clothes always come back smelling like you. When they get ripped or torn from fights you apologize profusely, but he's just glad you're okay. Who cares about a stupid shirt?

Annie has always loved you in her clothes. When you moved in together, your clothes just sort of became jumbled. Neither of you felt the need to separate them, so you really can't tell if the sweater you're wearing is hers of yours. When she buys clothes she always makes sure you like what she's picking out so that you both can wear it. No one even noticed what you two were doing, that one day you'd be wearing a shirt and a few days later it would be her turn, it's just sort of become a thing. When something gets ripped or torn or covered in blood, you're the first to make jokes. I loved that sweater, you say, though Annie knows what you really mean is it's a stupid piece of clothing, you're just glad she's okay, that's all that matters. Your favorite thing is to look at pictures where, in one, you're wearing this sweater and, in the next, she is. Something about that puts a smile on your face.

M.M. feels a little insecure. You used to love wearing his shirts. Truthfully, no one can tell what's his and what's yours, your and his clothes are so blended. Since becoming in charge of The Boys, as close to a leader as possible, he's lost a lot of weight. Grown smaller, and his clothes no longer fit you. You of course still have his old shirts, but his new wardrobe just doesn't fit. You assure him it's just temporary. The anxiety, the OCD, it really hurts his appetite. He can't even think about food anymore. Still, realizing that you can no longer share, it makes him self-conscious. Something about you wearing his clothes made him think that he was there with you always, that this was a way to protect you, as silly as it might sound. Now that you wear your clothes more, he isn't there to save you. It just adds to his many worries. You assure him you'll be safe, you'll always come back to him, but he just can't help it. You make a point to wear his older shirts as much as possible, not wanting him to worry more than he does.

Frenchie literally can't tell when you're wearing his clothes vs. your own. His style is pretty eclectic. His pants alone are bright and patterned and, to his friends, a fashion offense. His clothes are rarely organized, so you end up picking through piles to find something specific. Most of the time you have to point out when you've got one of his jackets or shirts on. He of course thinks you look better in them than him and he makes it known. Your friends make fun of you and him for some of the outrageous outfits you put together. Everything is worn in and soft and smells like him, a mix of cologne and fabric softener and smoke. Not realizing, Frenchie wears your clothes, too. Only when you ask for a shirt back or where it is does he realize oh! so this belongs to you. Neither of you mind. It makes you happy seeing him wear your clothes. He definitely styles is better than you.

Kimiko's entire closet is all black. Not only is it easy to blend in with the crowd, and it all matches, but it can also hide the sight of blood. Neither of you can really tell whose shirt or pants or jacket belongs to who, considering most of your clothes are pretty identical. Still, she'll poke fun at you every so often when she realizes you've got on one of her shirts. Is that mine? She smiles. Is it? You didn't even realize. You always ask her if she wants it back, if she wants you to change, but she shakes her head. She tells you look good in it, badass even, and you shrug it off, though it means a lot. You and Kimiko both are still figuring out how relationships work. It takes a lot of trust, something neither of you were very well versed in. Sharing clothes is just another way you two show that you're a partnership. No one else can tell, but you can. That kind of attention would normally make alarm bells go off in your head, but you know Kimiko, you know she does it out of affection and not something more sinister.

Bonus! Homelander rarely, if ever, wears civilian clothes. If he's not in his suit, he's probably naked. You've never seen him in anything else. The only time he's done it was to see Sage and that was in secret. Still, you find a way to share by wearing his cape. Typically wrapped around you after you slip from the bed, in search of your own clothes, half-naked and embarrassed. He assured you you have never looked better. Homelander likes power. He likes when people listen to him, respect him, and show him their loyalty. You wearing his cape shows him all of that and more. He never thought he'd like you in his clothes, it's just another thing he's territorial about, but he's pleasantly surprised. Now he expects it. If you forget or just don't wear it, his ego is pretty wounded. You assure him it's nothing against him. Now you go out of your way to do so, knowing it makes him so happy.

Bonus! Soldier Boy feels such an attraction to you when you wear his clothes. He doesn't really wear anything but his suit, so one day you jokingly put it on. You filled it out differently than he did, but it didn't look horrible. When he saw you, he was all smiles. The first thing that comes to mind is wanting to take it off you *wink wink*. What was a joke is now something you do on special occasions, putting it on and parading around in it. The things he says are awfully dirty and make you laugh every time. You never thought something as silly and simple as putting on his suit would end up driving him this wild. You should have known, it makes perfect sense, but you just never realized. When he does, on rare occasions, wear regular clothes, he's the first to suggest that you share. It isn't as enticing as wearing his suit, but the attraction is still there. It makes him feel like you belong to him, that you want to show that off. Nothing matters more to him than that. Nothing makes him feel more seen.

[swordsandholly]

Across The Way

Ch. 2: And So It Begins

Retired!Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader

MDNI

Ao3 | Previous - Next

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

A/N: I got this out a lot faster than I thought I would. Hopefully my work doesn’t get too insane and I can get the next out in a timely manner - it’s going to be a bigger one!

“You were right.” Simon carefully cuts through the loaf with a serrated knife. He’s never lost his skill with them, despite their uses becoming increasingly more domestic over the years. It’s charming, in a way - the juxtaposition of where they started and where they are now.

“Right about whit?” Johnny asks.

“She is a pretty little thing.”

“Donnae tell me I need tae be worried about ye sneakin’ off at work.” He jokes. Simon would never, of course, but it’s fun to see the way his cheeks heat up at the implication. Without his mask he wears every expression with reckless abandon.

Simon settles his large frame into the seat across from Johnny at the dining table. It’s small, they don’t need much. The chairs always creak under Simon’s weight in an almost threatening fashion. He pushes a plate with two pieces of the bread and some eggs over to Johnny. There’s an odd tug in his chest when he picks up the slice - an urge to be gentle as he spreads butter over it. Gentility is not a compulsion he feels often.

“S’good.” Simon mutters around his bite.

Johnny nods along after taking one himself. There’s love in it - he can tell. A piece carefully crafted with only absolute perfection in mind. How strange that food can carry such a feeling.

“Was a wee bit worried we’d be stuck across from the nicest, worst baker in the world.” He mutters.

Simon huffs out a half laugh.

~~~

Your first week goes by in a blur. For a small town they sure do manage to keep you busy. It’s good, you remind yourself. Better than none. If you keep it up at this rate you’ll be able to hire help by the end of the summer quarter.

By Monday, the first day of your “weekend”, you’re overdone. Head dizzy and body exhausted, you spend the day in bed. It’s a gratifying exhaustion, one you hope to build more of a tolerance for. As of now, though, you elect to remain deeply buried under the covers.

When you wake for a second time the sun is already near setting again. The entirety of Monday slunk by with you in bed. You grumble to yourself angrily like an old man. You wanted to unpack today - to at least get your clothes and kitchen items put away.

“Stupid.” You grouse. At least you still have time to shower, you suppose.

As you stand the world blacks out for a moment, your body swaying in place. You allow yourself to fall back on the bed, sitting while your vision slowly comes back into focus. Blinking away black dots and off squiggles that dance across your eyes. On attempt number two you manage it, making your way to the bathroom.

The work is worth it. The pain is worth it.

This is what you always wanted, after all.

You are happy. You can feel it in your bones. They’re lighter than they used to be - your whole body thrums with excited energy even as you have to lower yourself with the upmost care into the shower seat. Even as you have to scrape one of the cheap fold out chairs you managed to get over to the stove while you cook a late night dinner. Thank god for low counters.

When you were arranging your schedule it took a while to get it perfected. To compensate for your body you have to have time to rest and be able to do a lot of baking preparation before the work week starts. Monday and Tuesday are for rest. Wednesdays are for prep. The shop is closed but you’re in the back working your ass off mixing and kneading and shaping doughs. As well as practicing new recipes you want to add to the store’s line up eventually. Your goal is to sell American biscuits, preferably in batches of six, but those take a lot of work and don’t keep as long. They’ll have to wait until you have hired help.

It’s all chance and whatever you can manage to make happen. You learned to be okay with that, though.

You’ve got plenty of spoons, you tell yourself. Just need to use them wisely.

When you finally close the fridge, now fully stocked with dough ready to proof and bake, you check the clock. It’s still the early afternoon. You finished sooner than you assumed you might. The thought makes you giddy - makes you feel accomplished.

It makes you feel normal.

As you exit into the warm spring sun you take a moment. Ever since you arrived you haven’t been able to just stop. To just take everything in - let the foreign air fill your lungs and the aura of the town sink into your bones.

It’s a lovely little main street that you’re located on. The building to your left is a large family owned pharmacy (very convenient for you) and to your right is an empty brick building. It looks like a former post office, but from what you know the current post office is a few blocks down beside the grocers. It’s quaint, the lot of it.

Your eyes settle on the shop across from yours housed in a simple brick building painted white. The upstairs is an apartment much like yours, you think, but from what you know it currently remains empty. The sign above the door reads A Cut Above the Rest. You wonder if that was Simon or Johnny’s doing.

Would it be weird to go in? You suppose not, after all they came to yours. It’s only fair you give them some patronage as well. Plus you need to ask how the bread was. Hopefully they liked it - you realized halfway through the night that you didn’t even ask if they like sourdough before shoving it into their hands.

That thought kept you up later than you’d like to admit.

You look both ways down the street. This particular spot doesn’t have a crosswalk but the road is so dead even when the downtown is busy you figure it’s worth risking. The lack of danger doesn’t stop you from fast-walking across, though.

The shop’s old-fashioned door bell chimes prettily as you push it open. For a butcher it smells extremely clean - almost clinical. It’s small, with an L shaped display counter and a register at the end nearest the door. Packages of sausage links and the like hang on displays across the back wall. Beside the wooden saloon doors that lead behind the counter is a little dog bed with a very well crafted name plate reading Riley hanging right above it.

So cute.

“Afternoon.” Simon appears from the back, wiping his hands on a rag. You jump a little, so lost in taking in your surroundings you forgot what you came here for.

“H-hi!” You smile. You forgot how intimidating Simon is. His gaze levels you - pins you underneath him like a fly under a swatter. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic. “I thought I’d come check your shop out and ask how the bread was?”

“It was good.” He replies bluntly. Totally monotone. The corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. You decide that’s it’s a smile - whether that’s the reality of his expression or not.

“It’s really nice in here.” You look around. There isn’t much for decoration. The walls are too covered in menus and diagrams of cuts to leave room for anything extra. There’s a shelf of odds and ends opposite the main counter full of high end mustards and condiments. Little things to go with whatever you could think to make out of the varieties of meat they offer.

“Thanks.” Simon nods. “One moment.”

You watch with curiosity and a slight frown as he makes his way into the back. He almost has to duck under the doorway. Old buildings with low ceilings and all that. The place definitely wasn’t made with a six foot plus behemoth in mind. You continue to look around, rocking back and forth on your heels. They have a perfect score on their inspectors plaque. You might not know Simon well, but he seems the type to be absolutely precise about everything. The score doesn’t surprise you.

Yours is almost perfect - some rules are different here than in the US. Next time, you swear you’ll get it top notch! You look across the street at your shop. You wonder if you made the wrong choice with The Honey Bun. It’s bit much now that you see it from afar but it still makes you smile. That’s what matters, you guess.

Simon comes back out with a small, nicely wrapped package. “You don’t ‘ave any dietary restrictions d’you?”

You shake your head and he pushes the package toward you. Your eyes widen - it’s a great cut of high end beef. Like, really good beef as far as you know. Something you’d never be able to afford even if your business wasn’t brand new. You stare between Simon and the little pack in your hands. “Th-this is so nice but I-“

“It’s only fair.” He cuts you off. “Neighbors, yeah?”

You can’t help the grin that splits your face, eyes misting up despite yourself. Kindness has not been a constant in your life - more of a rarity. Something you had to claw and fight to earn. Being given it so freely but such a taciturn man has you reeling just a bit.

“Thank you… I’ve got to head back but, uh, thank you. Really.” You press the small package to your chest. “Tell Johnny I said hi?”

“Course.” He nods.

“Thanks again!” You grin, giving a little two finger salute before practically skipping all the way back into your dingy little apartment. Happily, you pack away the meat to use later. It’s too nice to just make any dish out of - best to save it for a special occasion. Your first gift in your new life. Best to savor it.

~~~

“Afternoon, bonnie.” Johnny appears in your doorway while you sweep up from the Saturday rush, bell chiming upon his entrance. “Hope I’m not a bother.”

“Not at all.” You smile, resting the broom on the counter. “Hello to you as well, Miss Riley.”

She huffs out a quiet bark in reply, sitting dutifully at Johnny’s feet. You don’t have much experience with service dogs - other than the well known rule not to pet them while they’re working. They were always too expensive for you to get and your condition wasn’t labeled serious enough to warrant financial aid. (Despite the fact that you can, and have, passed out and hit your head on something hard.)

“Can I get you something?” You ask.

“Och, I’m a’right. Just wanted tae stop by an’ say hello before headin’ home.” He gives you that dashing, bright grin. “Simon always kicks me out of the shop at close.”

“He doesn’t need help?” You ask. Surely cleaning up a butchers shop is a huge task. You have your work cut out for you with all the flower - you can’t imagine cleaning that amount of blood and mess.

Johnny shrugs. “The cleaning chemicals trigger my migraines.”

You hum. “Well, you’re always welcome to stop by. Actually,” you turn on your heel, “I’ve got somethin’ I’d like you to try, if you want.”

“Never one to say no to food. Especially from a pretty girl.” Johnny says as he follows. He tells Riley to stay in front and she listens - the perfect little lady that she is. You nearly trip at his comment, keeping your back turned so that he hopefully doesn’t see the heat spreading from your face and down your neck.

“I-it’s, uh, you ever had American biscuits?” You ask, praying he doesn’t notice the shake in your voice. You have to get on your tip toes to reach the small basket you made the day prior - carefully lowering it and pulling back the gingham cloth you wrapped them in.

An image of home.

“Aye, had them once on a layover at some chain diner.” He nods. “Donnae think they were fresh, though.”

“Well these are proper biscuits.” You carefully cut one in half with ease. “Sometime I’ll have to make you some gravy to go with.”

“Yer gonnae make us fat, hen.” Johnny chuckles.

“There are worse things to be.” The words come out more defensive than you would have liked. An automatic mechanism - a harshness you've honed over the years.

You hate how easily you wield it, sometimes.

Johnny leans forward over the table, a furrow in his brow. “I dinnae mean-“

“Here.” You cut him off and hold out the biscuit on a napkin, smothered with butter in the middle.

Johnny lets your interruption go. Probably happy for an out. He takes the fluffy baked good slowly, cupping it in his large hand with care. You wonder if he always does that, touches things with such gentle love. Is it learned? Is it just natural to him? Does he touch Simon like that? Gentle caresses?

What’s that like?

Johnny takes a massive, enthusiastic bite. Somehow his blue eyes manage to sparkle even more, grinning as he chews. “Sh’gew!”

You laugh at his attempt to talk around the food. “Glad you like it.”

He swallows roughly. A full body gulp. “Why’d ye start bakin’ anyway?”

“My grandparents raised me.” You fold the biscuits back up in their little basket. “My grandma taught me how. She was the best in town - won the pie contest almost every year.”

“Tha’s lovely.” The smile he gives you is so genuine it makes your chest constrict.

“Mean old bat but she could beat anyone in the kitchen.” You laugh. “We swore she had some kinda magic. Like a green thumb but for cooking.”

“My mum’s like tha’. Can make anythin’ out of nothin’.” He nods along.

You fall into an easy back and forth - never breaching anything deeper than the most surface level of content as he eats. It’s manageable. Johnny doesn’t push and neither do you.

Riley barks from the front of the shop.

“Och, tha’s my queue.” Johnny brushes off his hands and checks the front of his shirt for crumbs. “Take care, aye?”

You smile. “You too.”

~~~

Johnny’s words keep ringing in your ears. You don’t know why. It’s nothing special. There’s no reason to attach to them. You raise a hand to wipe off the fog and stare in the small mirror hung above your bathroom sink.

Pretty girl.

You scoff. You’re not a pretty girl. You’ve never been a pretty girl. Fat girl. Stupid girl. Sick girl. Tired girl. Sad girl.

That last one you’ve heard more than anything else. Out of all the descriptors of you it stands out as the most used. By everyone from teachers to your own family. Always just a sad, sad girl.

You got it from your mom, they’d say. It’s not like you would ever know.

You rip your eyes away from the mirror and try to let the thoughts melt away as you sink into the comfort of your blankets. Those thoughts live back on the other side of the Atlantic. They don’t get to follow you here.

[c1qfxugcgy0]

adventures in aerospace

So I recently started working at Large Aircraft Manufacturer. (LAM) The plant I work at employs 30,000 people. The company as a whole employs 170,000. Usually you only hear about LAM when something goes wrong. But no matter how bumbling it seems from the outside, it's way worse on the inside.

Three months after my first day, I have been "graduated" from "training." In reality, I'm still completely worthless on the floor: the training center has given me a paltry subset of the production certificates I need to actually to do my assigned job. A commonly cited statistic at LAM is that a hundred men a day are retiring, each one representing decades of experience, walking out the door, forever. The training center is in the unenviable position of managing a generational replacement, and have resorted to shoveling heaps of zoomers through as fast as possible. (As one of the few people with a visible hairline and who is not wearing a Roblox graphic tee; I am frequently mistaken for an instructor, and asked where the bathroom is, what time the next class starts, etc)

In theory, the training center knows what shop I'm assigned to, and can simply assign me all the required classes. In practice, they do the absolute minimum amount of training in a desperate attempt to relive the crowding in their handful of computer labs and tell graduates to pick up their certs later.

Of course, the irresistible force of the schedule meets the immovable object of the FAA. If you don't have the required production certificate to perform a particular job, you don't touch the airplane. Full stop, end of story.

And so the curtain opens on the stage. It reveals a single senior mechanic, supervising a mechanic who finally received all the certs and is being qualified on this particular job, surrounded by another three trainees. Trainees are less than nothing, absolute scum. At best we can fetch and carry. Mostly we are expected to stay out of the way. And the senior mechanic is only senior in title. He is one of six assembler-installers who is certified to actually work on the plane, out of twenty people on the crew, and spends every day with a permanent audience. He is 23 years old.

("Mechanic"? If you think the jargon at your job is bad, try joining a company that's a century old. Assembler-installers are universally referred to as "mechanics", despite doing work that's nothing like what a car mechanic does, and who are generally paid far worse than FAA certified A&P mechanics. Mechanics are the 11 bravos of LAM, grunts, the single largest category of worker. The tip of the spear. Hooah!)

Large Aircraft Manufacturer is in a dilly of a pickle. All of its existing airframe designs are hilariously antiquated. It tried designing a brand new plane from a clean sheet, and lost billions of dollars to a decade-long integration hell. After that, to save money, it tried just tacking bigger engines on an older design without changing anything else, and the stupid things plowed into the ground in an excruciatingly public manner.

LAM is now trying a middle road. It is upgrading one of its designs that is merely middle aged, rather than ancient, and with proven, de-risked components built in-house, rather than scattering them to subcontractors across the world. And it's still blowing past deadlines and burning billions of dollars LAM really doesn't have to spare.

This is the program I've been assigned to.

Advanced Midbody - Carbon Wing has taken the bold step of just tacking on carbon fiber wings to a conventional aluminum fuselage. Shockingly, AMCW is now stuck in lightning strike testing, due to that troublesome join between conductive aluminum and conductive...ish carbon fiber. But LAM, confident as ever, or perhaps driven by complaints of its customers, has announced that full rate production will begin just next year. Thus the tide of newhires. According to the schedule, we're supposed to jerk from one wingset a month to one wingset a week. That's not going to happen, but, oh well, orders from above move down at the speed of thought, while reality only slowly trickles upwards.

"120 inch pounds? Really?"

I startle upright. I have observed one hundred pi bracket installs, and I will observe a hundred more before I can touch aircraft structure. This is the first disagreement I've witnessed. A more advanced trainee is questioning the torque spec on a fastener. It is not an entirely foolish question-- most sleeve bolts we use are in the 40 in-pounds range. Doubling it that is unusual. I cough the dust off my unused vocal cords and venture an opinion.

"Well hey I could look it up? I guess"

The lead mechanic glances at me, surprised that I'm still awake, then looks away. Excuse enough for me!

I unfold myself from the stool I've been sitting on for the last four hours then hobble over to the nearest Shared Production Workstation.

We do not get Ikea-style step by step instructions on how to put together the airplane. Like any company that's been around for long enough, LAM is a tangled wad of scar tissue, ancient responses to forgotten trauma. If you state a dimension twice, in two different places, then it is possible for an update to only change one of those dimensions, thereby making the engineering drawing ambiguous. Something real bad must have happened in the past as a result of that, so now an ironclad rule is that critical information is only stated once, in one place, a single source of truth.

As a result, the installation plan can be a little... vague. Step 040 might be something like "DRILL HOLE TO SIZE AND TORQUE FASTENERS TO SPEC". What hole size? What torque spec?

Well, they tell you. Eventually.

(Image from public Google search)

You are given an engineering drawing, and are expected to figure out how things go together yourself. (Or, more realistically, are told how it's done by coworkers) Step by step instructions aren't done because then dozens of illustrations would have to be updated with every change instead of just one, and drawings are updated surprisingly frequently.

Fasteners are denoted by a big plus sign, with a three letter fastener code on the left and the diameter on the right, like so: "XNJ + 8"

To get the actual part number, we go to the fastener callout table:

(Note the use of a trade name in the table above. There is nothing a mechanic loves more than a good trademark. Permanent straight shank fasteners are always called HI-LOKs™. It's not a cable tie, it's a Panduit™. It's not a wedgelock, it's a Cleco™. Hey man, pass me that offset drill. What, you mean a Zephyr™? Where'd the LAMlube™ go? This also means you have to learn the names of everything twice, one name on the installation plan, and one name it's referred to in conversation.)

We find XNJ on that table, and fill in the diameter: BACB30FM8A. Now we look up the spec table for that fastener:

The eagle eyed among you might note that there is no "diameter: 8" on that table. As a LAM mechanic, you are expected to simply know that "diameter" is measured in 32nds of an inch, which simplifies down to 1/4.

(LAM preserves many old-school skills like fraction reduction and memorizing decimal equivalents like this, like flies caught in amber. Not least is the universal use of Imperial units. Many American manufacturers have been browbeaten into adding parenthetical conversions. Not LAM! Any risk at all of a mechanic seeing a second number and using it by accident is too great, and anyway, it violates SSOT. Lengths are in inches and feet, weights are in pounds, volume is in gallons and if you don't like it then you can go eat shit!)

After 10 minutes of following references, I arrive at that table, print it off, highlight the correct row, and hand it off to my senior mechanic.

"Great, thanks."

Gratified that I have enhanced shareholder value, I sit back down, and immediately fall asleep. Another day living the dream.

(next post in this series)

[honeybunhottie]

Oo headcanons for Chris or Josh crushing bad on Alt!reader? maybe like a gothic or metalhead style?

feel like both would be absolutely geeked about some scary looking women!!!

- 🦐

Omg I love this idea! Sorry in advance if this is totally off, I'm not super knowledgeable about the styles or culture but I tried my best! Please keep sending requests!!

Chris and Josh with an Alt! Reader

We’ll do this before the events of the game because I feel like they’d have too much going on otherwise.

Chris

This man LOVES alt baddies and I can say this for a fact

My source? I’ve never known a nerdy man who didn’t like an alt baddie

He and Josh are jokesters through and through. And also lowkey pervs

I can just imagine one day Josh is teasing him about never getting any

And then here walks by you, dressed head to toe in an outfit that’d probably make his mother scream

And he can’t take his eyes off of you.

Immediately his friends catch onto his (frankly, not subtle stare) and start teasing him

Eventually they have some pity and tell him your name at least.

This man makes it his mission to have an interaction with you

Spends at least a month stalking observing you in the hallways

What outfits you wear, what your friends wear, your fav eyeliner brand, how much you hate your lab partner, your plans after school, all of it

One time you bumped into each other and dropped your notebook

Papers flying everywhere and all

He helps you collect them all, and when your fingertips brush his hand feels like it’s evaporated. He didn’t know it was possible for appendages to feel like sparkling water, but here it was happening

When you say a simple “Thanks, Chris” he swears his heart stops

He kicks himself for the gaping stare he gave in response as he stuttered out something unintelligible. Like it seriously keeps him awake at night 

He knows he’s bordering on the weird line of things, but there’s literally no chance you guys would cross paths otherwise (in his mind at least)

Because little does he know, the was also a fact about alt baddies

I’ve never met one who didn’t VICERALLY NEED a nerdy man

Yep, you have noticed this blond nerd always around

Yes, you did think he was cute

And yes, your friends absolutely do notice

Eventually, they get tired of your mutual pining because it’s more than obvious that neither of you has enough balls to ask each other out. 

They set up a plan with the other squad to set you up, because everyone is tired of these two dorks fumbling around each other

They decide to pull the “make group plans but nobody shows up” card for the new movie coming out

Chris is chilling in the hallway on his phone,anxiously glancing at the door every other minute because why the hell aren’t they here yet?

He freaks out when he sees you walk in, dressed even cooler than usual, all by your lonesome. 

You seem lost, looking for something before checking your phone. You sport a flustered look afterwards.

At the same time, Chris feels his phone buzz with a text too

‘Have fun man!’

‘Good luck!!’

‘Take ‘em to the bone zone buddy!’

He rolls his eyes at the last one before realizing what they’re referring to

He looks up from his phone only to get jumpscared by you standing right next to him

“Looks like we’ve been set up”

He immediately starts apologizing before you put a finger to his lips to shush him’

“I’m kinda looking forward to this”

Lord help him

He’s still singing Josh’s praises years later though, so something worked out right!

Josh

I loveeeee Josh

And nothing about this man screams subtle to me

Will he immediately tell you to your face how hot he thinks you are?

Probably not

Will he find every opportunity to hang out and find things in common with you?

Yes, 100%

This man is around every corner, every turn with that bewitching stare and stupid laugh

I feel like he would love your alt style. I mean he’s super into horror movies and the darker side of things, I feel like he’d enjoy someone different.

Flirty jokes galore, he loves making them, he’s kinda weird like that

He loves it if you match his energy too

He’s always asking about what music you’re into, have you seen that new movie? There’s this new haunted house coming soon.

He loves quality time, and he wants to become friends before he makes a move or anything.

Once you guys are FRIENDS, then he starts making moves

This man is playing chess while we are playing checkers

I have a feeling that it’s not too noticeable at first

Lots of jokes still

Lots of “jk jk, unless…”

Nahhhh

Unless…

He’s always getting you the new album for your fav band, or buying you cool stuff when he gets dragged to the mall with his sisters.

Is a firm believer that it’ll happen if it happens

And is very content to just ride along with you.

Overall, 10/10 we love them both

[the-music-maniac]

Not that I read mpreg all that often (not really my thing generally speaking) but I came across some "Sanji is pregnant" fics in the sanzo/zosan tag, and not nearly the same amount for Zoro. It got me thinking about the trope. I think the lack of Zoro fics here is a tragic oversight. I think we as a fandom are absolutely and tragically ignoring the potential comedy gold of Zoro being the one to be pregnant instead.

Because when people write Sanji, the general trend I'm seeing (upon scanning through some of the fics quickly) is that he's cautious about it. Conscientious, careful to make sure things are okay. Which - arguably I could see, Sanji is probably the more practical of the two (not by a whole lot but still)and he didn't have a good childhood. Sanji being pregnant is usually a fic about his heaps of parental issues, childhood trauma and angst - which is fun to read. It's good. It's amazing, even.

Zoro being pregnant is ONE HUNDRED PERCENT gonna be a COMEDY. We're talking about a man who once tried to fight Kuina holding like 20 bokkens. We're talking about a man who got stuck in wax and thought the reasonable solution was to cut off his legs.

The entire crew spends the next 9 months tearing their hair out, preventing Zoro from doing stupid shit (exhibit A: cutting off his own limbs). They spend the same amount of time trying to stop Luffy from gum-gum-grabbing Zoro and yeeting him anytime he needs to get them out of a sticky situation.

The crew (mostly Sanji) is on 24/7 prevent-zoro-from-drinking-alcohol duty (impossible). Chopper is constantly stressed in the later months cause no one puts it past Zoro to get lost somewhere, give birth out in the woods and come strolling back with a baby tucked under his arm. They have to start hiding Zoro's dumbbells.

Franky and Usopp design and build a nursery and spends the entire time suspiciously teary eyed. Sanji tries to pretend he's unaffected but spends an entire night creating a 9 month meal plan of all the nutrients Zoro and the baby are gonna need. Not even a day later, one of the crew finds him up at 2 am making a mountain of food because Zoro made the mistake of offhandedly mentioning he had particular pregnancy craving within earshot of Sanji. In the end Zoro has to sit on him to stop Sanji from running himself ragged.

Robin keeps spouting morbid childbirth facts and quotes from parental advice books in equal measure. Nami keeps going on shopping sprees for cute baby clothes and adding the cost of them to Zoro's debt. Brook keeps writing lullabies and trying to sing them to Zoro's stomach. Zoro 100% uses his pregnancy belly as an excuse to walk around without a shirt 24/7 without getting nagged.

Somehow word gets out that the famous pirate hunter Zoro is pregnant, and at the next big fight with the Marines, half the soldiers refuse to fight him and instead start telling him to sit down, take it easy, shouting advice at him etc. Etc. Zoro loses his shit a little bit and cuts their boat in half.

Mihawk, upon finding out, tells Zoro in no uncertain terms that that is his grandchild and he's expecting them to visit so he can meet the baby when they're born. Zoro vehemently denies that Mihawk is his father (he is). Zeff upon finding out, is almost as bad as Sanji when it comes to being a mother hen. Perona buys even more baby clothes for the baby. She buys one singular shirt for Zoro as a joke, and it coincidentally happens to be the exact same brand of "mama" crop top he was forced to wear in that one filler episode. Zoro tries to chuck it into the ocean (he fails).

I'm essentially saying it would be absolute chaos, and it would be the funniest thing I've ever read. 9 months of Marimo wrangling. Can you imagine the look on Zoro's face if one of the opponents he was fighting were to tell him that he's "glowing"?

PLEASE, I would actually wheeze myself to death. The best part is you can still have plenty of Sanji angst. He still has parental issues except now they're flavoured with "I'm not ready to be a father" and "I'm terrified I'm gonna become my biological sperm donor" and "please don't die because of childbirth complications, that happened to my mother(sort of, I know she died after but it kinda counts), and I can't handle that happening again to you". Lots of cute/tender moments of Zoro comforting and reassuring Sanji. We can even have Zoro angst. He probably views protecting his crew as the one and only job he's good for (not true but that's probably what he thinks). Not being able to fulfill that is probably not helping his self esteem, and that sense of uselessness warring with his need to protect the baby - but the contradictory thing here is that to protect the baby he HAS to sit back and let other people do that FOR him. That plus all the other restrictions, people treating him differently, but him at the same time refusing to view his own child as a weakness. Imagine the havoc that would wreak. Oh my god.

Y'all don't understand, I don't even read mpreg that often and yet this is literally my ideal fic HAHAAAAA

[heartpiratedrabbles]

Drunken Mistakes

Prompt: You get too drunk one night and embarrass yourself in front of your captain.

Part 2

Trafalgar Law X Fem Reader

“Oh come on y/n!! We’re finally on land! Lets go have some fun,” Ikkaku begged you. She noticed you taking pajamas out of your locker over something to wear out.

        “You know I don’t party,” You say over your shoulder, unzipping your jumpsuit. As the only 2 women on board, you two shared a rather large room, you even had full-size beds over the twin bunk beds the men shared in their rooms, which housed 4 people to a room. Law was nice enough to provide everyone with their own personal desk and locker.

        Ikkaku placed a hand on her hip, “That’s the point! You’re not going to party but you can watch me to make sure I don’t do anything stupid” She was eager to get of the submarine, it had been a month since they had last been on land, and Captain said they’d be staying for a week or two as everyone was getting a little ship madness stuck inside. “Come on! Please?” She walked up beside you and started rummaging through your clothes before pulling out a rather revealing romper.

        She wiggled it in front of you before you sighed, “Alright, but I’m only watching your sorry ass from the side lines. We can’t have you getting lost now.” You grab the romper and think about how even when you have time to wear anything, you still choose clothes that are like the crews jumpsuit.

~~~

        The island was fun, there was an entire street full of bars to choose from, each just as rowdy, loud, and addictive as the last. Ikkaku finally decided on one and you couldn’t help but wonder if she pre-planned this when she squeals and runs up to the two familiar faces of Penguin and Shachi.

        “Heyyyy You got Y/N out of your guys room, How’d you manage that?” Penguin happily yelled as you sat down across from them.

        Shachi and Penguin gave each other a look before getting their notorious smiles, this could only mean one thing. And absolutely awful idea that they’d be insistent on. Before you could retreat from the crew's pranksters they flank either side of you, place their hands on your shoulders, making sure you stay sitting. “Y/N why don’t you relax a little bit,” Shachi said putting an empty mug in front of you.

        “Yea, come on Y/N you haven’t let loose in a longgg time,” Penguin grinned as he poured some liquor into the glass. It had been a couple of months since you drank last, but you also got absolutely shit-faced that last time and can’t remember much of the night other than Bepo having to carry you back to the ship and Ikkaku holding your hair up as you puked.

        “You know I’m on watch tomorrow morning, I can’t drink tonight,” You thought up an excuse as quick as they had started their shenanigans.

        “But Y/N… It’s Jean Bart's turn to watch tomorrow, you’re on duty in 3 days,” Ikkaku blurted out, remembering the schedule I had hung in our room, she had a wicked smile on her.

        “You guys planned this didn’t you,” You sigh as you relent a little bit, taking hold of the glass in front of you and you can hear Penguin let out a small giggle, he had been drunk before you even walked in. “No more than 4 drinks. A round per person,” You chug the liquid in the mug as the three cheer around you, accomplishing their mission.

~~~

        You hadn’t realized how tense you’d been lately until the liquid forced you to relax. After the 4th round, Shachi had suggested going to a different bar, one with a much better selection of booze and you decided to continue drinking.

        “Y/N you’ve been working so hard recently, we’re glad you’re finally relaxing a bit,” Penguin murmured from where his head had rested on his arm still holding a glass half drunk. You giggle a bit at the display before taking the glass and finishing the rum, Shachi was still quite Sober compared to either you and Penguin, and Ikkaku was still off grabbing another round for the table.

        You leaned forward on the table, your cleavage becoming all the more evident, “Well Sachi! I think you should take a penalty drink!” You Grin at him, you’d never been able to pronounce his name correctly once you started drinking.

        “Oh? And what, Pray-tell, is this penalty for?!” He laughed out also leaning in, never one to back down from a battle.

        “You, my good sir,” You pointed towards his chest, “Are still wearing the jumpsuit,” Slurring half the words as Ikkaku sits back down with a tray of drinks.

        “You heard the boss, Penalty drink for still wearing uniform,” Ikkaku smiled out handing Shachi a shot glass of god knows what. He sighed defeat and took a shot, “But Y/N that means you need a penalty drink for not covering up your tattoos.”

        You look down and around yourself, realizing the romper was just straps and showed off the tattoos on your shoulders and gave a small peak to the larger one on your back, “Thas not fair!” You pouted before grabbing the shot and pounding it back.

~~~

All four of you had returned rather late, all praying that Hakugan, the watch for the night, wouldn’t tell on you, or even worse, the captain was still awake to scold the four of you. It had been well past 3am and Law had always wanted everyone back on the ship by 1am or for them to sleep in hotels at that point.

None of you thought you’d be out this late and none of you wanted to even try to find a hotel, best to just sneak back into your rooms. After all, once you’re close enough to your rooms, you can claim you were just going to the bathroom.

Shachi was holding up Penguin as you and Ikkaku had been supporting each other, trying to hold back any giggling or words as you climbed onboard. The one thing you were jealous of was how close some of the men’s room were to the top of the ship, Your and Ikkaku’s room were toward the bottom so you had to traverse much further than your two crewmates.

Penguin nodded a goodbye and Shachi barely managed to open the door to their room, thankfully, it had seemed as though their roommates had opted to stay out for the night.

Ikkaku makes eye contact with you and you continue to walk towards your quarters, and you both start to giggle. As you get closer to your room you motion for Ikkaku to continue without you, pointing towards the bathroom as explanation.

She looks at you and gives a thumbs up trying to hold back any noise, The Captains room was just slightly further down the hall and we’d be dead if he caught us. You watch as she retreats into the shared room as you slink towards the bathroom.

As soon as you enter the bathroom your met with a blinding light, no doubt left on by Ikkaku from before you two even left, but as you walk further in, reaching out for where the light switch should be (Opting for darkness over the headache inducing light) You bump into something. Or rather, someone. You stop, your hand on the wall, if you had been more sober you’d know you should have felt the light switch by now if this was the girls Bathroom.

“Y/N-ya.” A dry familiar voice rings into your ears as your eyes snap open, staring at the tattooed chest of your captain. “I see you had a fun night.”

You couldn’t register the emotion in your Captains voice and you couldn’t quite sober yourself up, try as you might. “C-captain!” You blurt out peering up, straightening your back and trying not to let the giggle you feel out. The man in front of you was only wearing a towel, rather low on his hips at that and his hair was damp. After a second of holding your breath to try and maintain a serious demeanor the cold hard stare of your captain makes you burst out laughing a bit, stumbling over your feet, “You’re not suppose to be in here~” You point your finger a bit before tapping his toned chest.

Yep, this must have been a dream, you must have passed out somewhere and this was a fantasy. There’s no way your captain would every allow you to touch his bare chest like this. You place both your hands gingerly on the taller mans shoulders before slowly moving them down, taking in the feeling of the toned chest in front of you, “It feels so real,” You murmur under your breath as your hands venture to the mans hips.

Law inhales sharply at the sudden touch. As your hands venture back up to his chest, tracing the outlines of his tattoos his own hands grab hold of yours, stopping any movement, “Are you having fun, Y/N-ya?” He leans down to whisper into your ear.

The voice sends shivers down your spine and you can feel yourself getting excited. “Well if this is a dream…” You murmer before leaning in, attaching yourself to your captains neck. Not even a second later you felt yourself being shoved into the cold metal wall.

Law had pushed you back while also lifting your legs around him and your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, “I can assure you, Y/N-ya… This is plenty real.” You look up at the captain, registering his words and the slight pain in your head that had barely hit the wall and the sudden realization sobers you up almost immediately. Your eyes widen and you suddenly become hyper aware of the position your in hanging your head to avoid Law’s gaze, “Looks like you’re finally awake.”

[mariaace]

Asano Gakushū dating hc's

A/n: listen... listen.. i know the fandom is dead and everything, but this guy...ugh i think i have a thing for gingers and readheads

Warnings:none Genre:fluff Type:headcanons Anime:Assassination Classroom Pairing:Asano Gakushuu

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How did you manage to get with this mf? (Tell me the secret pls🙏🏻🙏🏻)

Honestly- he fell first and harder.

With Gakushū there could be sooo many tropes- academic rivals, enemies to lovers, friend to lovers, forbidden love, fake dating and there's probably more (book girly here🖐🏻)

He would deny any feelings he has for you at first. No exceptions. But he is also not stupid so he would probably google about the feelings🤦🏻‍♀️ and then realise: 'Uh! He likes you'

I doubt he would like do anything about it except if you are in A class he would spend more time helping you (even if you understand anything) as an excuse to be around you.

Would NOT tell the others from A class- absolutely not. At least at the start

You would probably be the one to confess (i imagine it on valentine's giving him chocolate)

Or if you are shy asf he would eventually confess *cough* probably with a contract *cough*

Now onto the relationship-again at first it's a secret mostly because of his father. (My poor bby) , eventually he will tell the others and his father

Study buddies :DDD (i need a study buddy like him)

No but seriously he will help you with every subject you are struggling with

Please keep this baby from overworking himself. Like drag him out of his chair please🙏🏻

Ngl he probably wouldn't be able to go invite to your house on school night because HIS FATHER✨

Okay but this guy spoils you. But wouldn't just give it to you. Like "solve this math questions" and after that he'll give you a gift

Resure him after the games he lost again E class please🙏🏻 he feels awful after them even if you are from E class please just do it

He isn't the most romantic man, but i feel like he would do some cliché stuff he read about online

He likes to be the little spoon but would never tell you or if you understand eventually he would be like "not a word to anyone" 🤭

I am convinced he wears glasses when he reads and always reads something before bed

Snatch his book and start reading it for him and he'll melt🫶🏻 the boy hasn't experienced love

I think he has one of those spinning chair and would let you.... eventually to sit on his lap while he does homework and just when he starts overworking just push the chair with your legs🫶🏻

Would be hesitant at first, but eventually would let you play with his hair, because it calms him down

[newworldwritings]

If Only (preview)

paring: San x chubby!reader

genre/warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive, second chance, time travel/new universe (1950s), mentions of car accidents, female reader, featuring all of ateez (greaser ateez), featuring some of the nct & stray kids boys, smoking, motorcycles, fuckboy activities, lowercase intended, insecurities, body shaming, we hate hyerin, san being oblivious in flashbacks, yunho being an absolute golden retriever, wooyoung is a bit of an ass (sorry, don’t worry tho he gets a character development) will mainly be in sans pov but will switch from other perspectives, any bold & italic words are what the characters are actually thinking

word count: 1k+

pls reblog!

taglist: open! just comment to be added!

a/n: I had a dream of this (not with the members) & I wanted to write it out, also got a bit inspired by “Marry My Husband” but it’s a completely different plot.

preview:

“san i can’t be letting you back in every time things go sideways with her, i'm done being the second choice.”

“i’m done. goodbye san.”

those were the last words L/N Y/N had told me after i chased after her out of the school, and being the idiot i was i just stood there watching her walk away from me towards yunho, one of my best mates. since when did they become close? but those were the last of my worries. i had just lost my childhood best friend because i was too blinded to show this school i was the best at everything by going after the most sought out girl of the school hyerin. when i should’ve gone for y/n. she always stood by my side, never once showed me disloyalty, and always picked me up anytime hyerin shooed me off for her other boy toys. she never once judged me for my ways and i took her kindness and love for granted.

now im left here alone with no hyerin in sight, probably making out with jaehyun, and my mates are probably having the time of their life’s at the dance with no clue that i had lost y/n.

while watching her enter yunho's car my mind was yelling at me to go after her. but i couldn’t, i had been selfish for too long. i knew she needed me to let her go so she could move on.

but that also meant i had to move on but how could i move on with life when i had lost the best thing that i could ever have in life.

watching yunho's car pull out the parking lot, i decided that one last time i wanted to be selfish. so i chased after the car. not noticing how i ended up on the main road, not noticing how a car was coming towards me until it hit me.

i flew back and laid on the road while looking at the night sky, i wanted to scream at the universe for doing this to me. when in reality i should’ve been yelling at myself for being stupid, and oblivious.

the pain from the impact of the car started invading my whole body. it hurts. everything. mentally and physically.

i closed my eyes hoping someone or something would come and take this pain away from me. not just from the impact but from my heart as well.

i heard sirens and people rushing towards me, but i also heard someone saying my name over and over again. but i couldn’t open my eyes. until someone shook my body forcefully.

then i got up like i had just woken up from a nap. looking around trying to find out who was shaking me rather than helping me. then i noticed i wasn’t on the road, it wasn’t night time, and there was no car.

rather i was on a field under a tree next to a building that looked like our university. what the fuck.

“san!”

i looked forward to the person in front of me calling me.

“y/n?” but this was not my y/n i could tell from the very different clothes she was wearing and her hairstyle was completely different. it seemed like a hairstyle that would be done in the 1950s.

“come on, we’re gonna be late!” she pulled me up and started fixing my leather jacket. wait when was i wearing this. where am i?!

while I was lost in my thoughts i heard a group of people calling me towards the entrance of the school. wait is that?

“come on san we don’t want to get yelled at by Ms. Lisa again hurry up!” hongjoong?

it was all my friends, but it wasn’t at the same time? since when did we all start wearing matching leather jackets? but before i can question anyone y/n pulled me towards them.

“lover boy is gonna miss his chance to talk to hyerin before class.” i turned too wooyoung, who was snickering, but i was too focused on his appearance. he didn’t have his oreo hair as he liked to call it, his hair was all black with an undercut. when did he have time to do that? before i could turn to y/n to ask her what’s going on i was being pushed towards the door, following the rest of the boys, while i had time to look around the area i looked at the backs of my mates and some of there side profiles. they all had their hairs gelled back, even jongho who preferred the boyfriend style. what stood out to me the most was the leather jackets we were all wearing had ‘ATEEZ’ in big white letters with 3 motorcycles below it. they all look like they had just came out a greaser movie with this style they all had. wait… y/ns style of clothing along with my mates. am i in a different timeline..? no that can’t be.

to further prove my theory, i turned to y/n.

“y/n, what’s the date?” she looked at me weirdly.

“it’s march 29?” she said as if it was the most obvious answer. “no, what year are we in?”

“san are you ok? did you hit your head? you’re acting really weird”

“who’s acting weird?” wooyoung turned around to look at us. “san, he’s asking what year we’re in.”

wooyoung only chuckled, “he's probably just nervous because hyerin is going out with him this weekend, san it’s 1955 you bimbo. now loosen up don’t want to scare hyerin off.”

i stopped in my place. “it’s 1955!?” everyone turned to me. “aye san you sure you good?” i turned to yunho with a look that screams ‘do i look good to you?’

“oooookaayy, i’m gonna take this one to Lee before class, we will catch up to you guys later.” y/n waved to everyone while pushing me towards a different door.

what the actual fuck is going on.

[devildomditzy]

Pacts - Mammon x MC

Part 3

Haven’t Read The Beginning? : Part One - Part Two

Tag list + Author’s Note at the end

Tags: Angst w/ eventual comfort, Mentions of Death/The Fall, Mentions of anxiety/anxiety attacks

——————————————————————————

Okay… Deep breaths. Just like Lilith taught ya.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In

In

IN!!!!

“Mammon, what’s wrong! Hey, Mammon, come on, come back to me.”

If only the simple snapping of your fingers in his face and the feeling of you grabbing his shoulders could bring him down from the panic he was now feeling.

This should be easy. He can remember another time, a simpler time, a time long gone by. One where his sister still lived and smiled and breathed. One where she taught him things like expressing your feelings and sharing your emotions with others. One where she showed just how important family and friends and lovers could be…

He was never good at it. Of course, that was his own personal opinion. But whenever he did Lilith would smile that blinding smile and glow and tell how much of a natural he was at it.

He’s flirted, sure, he’s put on the charm and picked up various angels and demons and humans and who even knows what to fulfill his more primal desires. He’s taken lovers and partners and been a part of a couple, or thruple…or even quadruple, some of which lasting for years or even decades.

But ever since the fall, ever since he lost his home, his friends, his sister, his life; and was left to pick up the pieces with the other six who swore themselves to damnation for the rest of existence? He can’t say that he’s been interested in another being. At least not like this.

You. You. The human. The stupid exchange student he was unceremoniously shackled to. The one he had no choice but to watch over. The one that seemingly didn’t care that they were thrust into hell. The one that defied his all powerful brothers, whether out of bravery or innocence or down right stupidity. The one that calls him silly for wearing sunglasses inside and hums to themselves when they’re really focused and explores the Devildom with curiosity rather than fear and is too friendly for their own good and looks at him with big, bright, beautiful eyes that nobody has ever looked at him with before and tells him they really like hanging out with him and and and…

Everything stops. Everything goes blank. The only thing Mammon can feel is a weight, one that’s made it’s way around his body. It’s comforting and warm and all consuming and it’s…

He opens his eyes he didn’t realize he had screwed shut, only to find you clinging onto his form, arms wrapped around him. Your face tilts upwards from where it was buried in his chest, your expression painted one of concern.

“Oh god- I mean, oh gosh? I think. Are you okay?”, you question, tone laced with worry. “I have anxiety attacks too sometimes, I know it sucks. Do you need space? Or maybe water? I don’t know how it works for demons but that usually helps me.”

Mammon feels the blush beginning to spread across his face, knowing the position you’re both in looks compromising. He can’t remember the last time he has someone make such a fuss over him, and of course it’d be you, while he’s trying to sort out his feelings no less! You make it extremely hard to think, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t absolutely enjoy every second you made contact with his skin.

“N-Nah, ‘m good. I guess it’s…just a lot to explain ‘n all,” he mutters, playing with a loose thread he found on your shirt collar.

“Well, then let’s start from the beginning. The pact, right? We formed it like normal, well… as normal as forming a pact with a demon can be, right?

“Right.”

“And the placement of ours… that doesn’t normally happen right- or at least, it hasn’t happened to you?”

“Right. Hasn’t happened to me before, or any of ‘m brothers. I dun’ even think Solomon’s got one there, and he’s covered in ‘em. It’s….rare.”

“Rare? How’s it rare?”

“Well…cause it means somethin’. Somethin’…. important.”

He continues pulling at the loose thread, looking anywhere but you, his face a brilliant shade of red.

“All pacts represent a bond right?”

“Yea.”

“A shared bond? Between the former and formee.”

“Yea.”

“And so a bond formed over my heart means something…else?”

“GAH! DO I HAV’TA SPELL IT OUT FOR YA DUMMY!”

Mammon jumps up from his seat and out of your arms before shoving his hands in his pockets, turning his back towards you. He brings a shaky hand up to wipe his face.

“Tch. Can’t believe ‘m sayin this out loud”, he mutters under his breath, before turning around.

“Human, I…I like ya! Okay! There, I said it, ya happy dammit?!”

It was now your turn to blush furiously, watching as he brings his shoulders up and winces, almost like he’s waiting for something bad to happen, almost like he’s bracing for the worst.

“You…like me?”, you ask, shocked at the bluntness of his confession.

“Don’t make me repeat myself!”

You sit dumbfounded, letting the feeling of his feelings wash over you. He watched the gears turn in your head and thinks that if you think any harder, your brain is going to explode. Ya know, fragile human stuff ‘n all.

“But…Mammon, you said you didn’t like me being around you. You said that it was an inconvenience to be near me. You even said the pact mark was a blemish.”

Mammon freezes. Fuck. For once, the outspoken second born doesn’t have a response. He stares at you, eyes wide and wild, a deer caught in the headlights.

“So, you throw insults at me, tell me to leave you alone, and now you tell me you like me?”

“I-”

“Mammon, what am I supposed to do with that? You constantly treat me like an annoyance, you threatened me my first week here, hell, you just decided it was fine if I was seen with you outside of R.A.D., and now all of a sudden you like me?”

“MC-”

“I…I don’t know what to say, Mammon. Honestly, I don’t know…what you want from me here.”

His fists ball in his pockets as he starts to tremble a little. He bites his lip and turn his head, not wanting to face you for this next part. Even if you denied it due to the hurt he caused, he knew the undeniable truth; It sat right across your chest.

“Ya don’t gotta say anythin’. I already know how ya feel about me.”

“Mammon-”

“No, I do. Ya don’t have to say it. An’ I’m sorry for bein’ a jerk, alright. I just…I can’t…I’ve been…I mean…It’s cuz’…tch!”

He turns again to compose himself. You almost expect him to leave, to run towards the door and walk out, sulking by himself. You can’t say you’d blame him, you’d probably find yourself doing the same if someone responded to you the way you had just to him. Sure, you liked the second born, but he made it so hard with the way he flip flopped his feelings towards you. You don’t have long to mourn the budding friendship you were having with the avatar of greed before he makes his next move.

He shakes his head and turns back to you, his trademark cocky smirk reappearing across his face. There’s an expression in his eyes you can’t quite place, and he steps forward, crouching down to your eye level. There’s a new determination to his swagger, one that makes your heart beat speed up and your body run hot.

“MC, I know how ya feel about me, ‘cuz pact marks only form there if ya both feel the same way.”

Before you could process the thought, his lips are on yours.

You don’t have time to react, he’s doing that for you. One hand comes up behind the back of your head to fist your hair as he brings you closer to him, deepening the kiss, though he still leaves space for you to push him away, enough where if you truly didn’t want this, you could escape his grasp.

It’s tender, you think, the way he holds you. The way his lips move across yours is a softness you’ve never felt before, and it takes your brain a second to catch up and begin kissing him back. As soon as you do, you feel his lips stretch into a smile. This, a stark contrast from the sides of himself he’s been showing you thus far.

After a minute or so, he pulls away from you. “Ya have no idea how long I’ve been wantin’ to do that.”

“Based on what you’ve told me”, you muse with smile, “It looks like it’s been…hmm…I dunno…about as long as I’ve been here?”

“Shuddup.”

You can’t help but laugh at his childish reaction. No matter if he was insulting you like a kid on the playground or kissing you like you were his only way to breathe, he was still Mammon.

“So what does the pact mark on the heart mean in scientific terms?”

“Scien-what?”, He gawks, clearly stumped at your question. You stifle another giggle.

“I mean, if I asked what it meant to a teacher or, say, Solomon, what would he say it meant?”

Mammon sighs at the question. You really were gonna make him repeat himself, huh. “It means that I like ya and ya like me, okay?”

You seem kind of bummed at this answer. “Aww, is that it?”, you question.

“Whadda mean is that if? Whadda ya want, it to mean we’re soulmates or somethin’?”

“Does it?”

“…”

“Mammon?”

“…”

“WAIT! MAMMON! DOES IT?”, you wildly smile, eyes bright in shock.

“S-Some old folktales may say-”

“I’M ASKING SOLOMON!”, you declare, jumping out of his arms and speeding towards the door

“Oi! No ya don’t ya little nightmare!”, he screams running after you.

He’d let you win this race, of course he would. And the one after that. And the one after that.

Besides,

He had the rest of your life to catch ya whenever he wanted.

——————————————————————————

Taglist: @someoneunkownforyou @fandomhell97 @crocrafts @dragonageoregons @furblrwurblr @youaskedfurret @simpinginthecorner @astarotha @glitterandgoldfinds @liminalimmortal @bestblob @crow-charlie @hauntedcatnerd @aprilwallflower @ungodlywoes @h2ojuice @nani-nani-nani @cant-sleep-because-anime @zarakem @rawharr @nicksworld0715 @fxllen-sxldier @someoneunkownforyou @lexiekim @darlingsama630 @xiaosalmoundtofu @abadonkori @harujkookie @whatamidoing89 @all-mights-wife @oliemolliever @kamukayakmonyet @zp1cy-tr4n5m4n @toobsessedsstuff @enwriq @emsieeee @just-an-indian-pre-med-student @chaoticjojo @todosteakettle @thepaleghost777 @milkysoobi @hopeannalea @pandaplan18 @cutiepattutiestarlight @mentally-unstable-simp @satanawakenedmyoceans

Author’s Note: Holy shit. Guys. GUYS. LOOK AT THAT MF TAGLIST. IM SO HAPPY SO MANY OF YOU ENJOY MY WRITING THAT MUCH 😭😭😭.

Thank you all so much for your support on this series! I’d love to try to do all the brothers next, or keep expanding on this one via MC’s and Mammon’s relationship as MC continues making pacts with the others. Not sure which I’ll go with! Any suggestions? Would we rather it continue being MC x Mammom as MC bonds with the other brothers, or every brother having their own romance line? Anyway, let me know what you think. Love ya lovelies <3

[eliasorchard]

WILLIAM WITH A S/O THAT LOVES SWORDS — HCS

: william j. moriarty x f!reader, slight enemies to lovers?

: thanks for the request, anon. i hope you'll like it :)

: i rewrote this four motherfucking times, idk what's up with tumblr but this wouldn't save and had my eye twitching

★ when he first met you, he was intrigued by your no-nonsense and bold attitude and you were unimpressed by his noble status, thinking he was an arrogant, eccentric man — just like all the noblemen you'd met previously.

★ ever since you met him, he's liked teasing you through mind games. although when asked about it, he refutes it saying he's never done such a thing. you're not the brightest out of the bunch but you always try and put up a good fight — you were not going to look stupid, and you would die on that hill. it's always amusing to him, even charming.

★ wanting the freedom of movement and since it makes fencing much easier, you prefer wearing light clothes compared to the heavy dresses society would make you wear. you were never one for rules, anyway.

★ when suitors would come asking for your marriage, you'd challenge them to a duel saying that if they won, you would immediately marry them.

★ up until now, everyone has lost. you find great satisfaction in defeating them with your skills at arms.

★ upon learning this, william is more than impressed. he's further charmed by your unapologetic passion. you speak your mind freely, unintimidated by his title/status. he admires your confidence and the way you refuse to back down from a challenge, whether a duel or a battle of wits.

★ for your part, you come to appreciate the depth of his character. you realize he's no mere stuffy aristocrat, but a man of principle, compassion, and keen intellect. the antagonism between you transforms into mutual fascination.

★ once you find about his real identity... well, let's just say you're not entirely shocked. you'd been suspecting something before — just not the lord of crime. you knew his build was a little too fit for it to belong to a noble who's never once had to work too hard in his life.

★ it takes a lot of convincing and consulting you until you finally decide that listen to his full story. yes, you may have a bold and sometimes abrasive personality but that didn't mean you'd jump into the fire that william was. you, even though experienced in combat, were but a normal person. you didn't see crime every day and you've never engaged with a criminal before.

★ after hearing his cause and everything that has led to this point, you decided to trust him. and nothing much has changed to your surprise, in fact, you feel like your relationship with him has grown better. the two of you trust each other more now.

★ you've also started doing sneak attacks on him, surely he could handle them. and you were right — his reflex and reaction time was incredibly fast. having him as an opponent was thrilling and during duels, you constantly try to push him to his limits, see how much he can take.

★ the way you handle your rapier is almost mesmerising to him. william secretly begins to long for moments where your bodies come dangerously close as you clash blades.

★ william is good, but he's always bested by you. you're just that good in terms of combat. your movements are fluid and unpredictable — which is why a strategic man like him can't seem to read your thoughts and next choice of action.

★ there is raw tension and chemistry between the two of you, it is undeniable. eventually, the two of you get into a relationship. william is in no way a bad lover, the absolute best. but you're as equally as wonderful and understanding.

★ you two, although you share differences in personality, are an unusually well matched and balanced pair.

© 𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍 ;; do not repost, translate or modify my works in any way or any platform. all rights reserved.

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐎𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐲 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞… 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 [𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: maid!Blade??? x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, oral sex, spanking, cokworming, delaying orgasm.

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

It just so happened that today is my birthday, so I decided to please both you and myself with a little yummy. I may have been on Tumblr not so long ago, but in fact I have been writing for quite a long time and it will never cease to bring me pleasure, so I'm incredibly happy that I can now share my creativity with others. This is the best gift I can imagine ( 〃▽〃) I hope my texts in english are at least a little closer to what I write in the original, and you don't experience discomfort while reading. Bon appetit!<3

— Everything is absolutely honest! We had an argument, or have you already forgotten? — you smile slyly, poking Blade's nose into his sad and bitter defeat.

He clears his throat, seemingly confused, looking at the menacingly red inscription «Defeat» on the screen of his smartphone.

— When did you learn to play so well?

— Ahem! — you're pouting. — How dare you, I always beat you. Well, almost…

— Did you play with the Silver Wolf?

Your lips open before you find something to say. His insight is so annoying sometimes.

— I-it doesn't matter! The main thing is that now you can start fulfilling my wish, as we agreed.

Blade sighs resignedly, throwing the phone on the table and crossing his arms over his chest.

— Just don't be silly.

— Hey! There was no such condition, I can wish anything I want.

Blade's lips pursed, his eyes closed, as he mentally cursed the minute he signed up for this stupid argument.

— Just don't even think about shirking your obligations anymore, justifying yourself by saying that your wounds haven't healed yet. I fell for it once, but it won't work twice! — you pout your lips and put your fists on your sides, giving your offended expression on your face a bit of severity. — So, I want to…

✧ ✧ ✧

— Where did you even get… this?

Blade discontentedly lifts up the hem of a long black dress along with a white apron, looking with disgust at the mesh tights hugging his legs while you are messing around from behind, helping him tighten the black satin bow on his back. You could have chosen anything as punishment, but he couldn't even think that you could ask for something so humiliating as to make him wear that ugly maid dress and tights that make him feel like a whore on call.

— I used to have to work part-time in a maid cafe, — your voice seems to darken from unpleasant memories. — I wanted to throw away this form, but I think I found a better use for it! — only Blade wanted to give you an understanding silence, but instead he lets out another exasperated sigh when you are overflowing with enthusiasm again.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice how Blade lets go of the hem of the dress with displeasure, again hiding his legs from your field of view. In fact, all this time your gaze was riveted to the muscular calves covered with mesh fabric. It seemed to you that… Sexy?

— And now what? — Blade turns around, angrily crossing his arms over his chest and seemingly looking away in embarrassment. If someone else were in your place, this person could have lost his head the second he voiced this humiliating request. But it was you. In fact, he is too greedy for your puppy dog eyes, constantly begging him to commit absolutely senseless follies, to which for some reason he continues to agree.

— Hm-m, actually, I wanted to arrange a real photo shoot for you, so that after sharing this treasure with Kafka and the Wolf! — you're really testing his patience. — But…

You stumble over the words when the image of his sexy legs, perfectly covered with vulgar tights, pops up in your mind again. It's ridiculous even for you. Initially, your request was just a way to tease your amazingly patient lover once again, but now you are desperately trying to fight the heat that treacherously spreads through your body every time you look down, unconsciously continuing to touch his back even when the satin bow has long been tightly tightened, elegantly emphasizing the curve of Blade's waist in an already tight dress. You glance cautiously over his shoulder, noticing how the black fabric hugs his chest, threatening to tear to shreds as soon as he takes a deep breath. However, you've always wondered how his own raincoat holds that muscular chest with the help of two pathetic buttons trembling with tension, but you weren't completely sure if your old uniform could withstand such pressure.

— But? — a low velvety voice, permeated with impatience, pulls you out of your thoughts and seems to bring you out of a deep trance when you notice how your fingers are gently pressed into the fabric of a tight dress.

— Damn, — you sigh softly, sitting down fatally and clinging to the hem of a lush black skirt.

Blade warily turns his head in your direction, watching you straighten up again, pulling the black fabric up to his waist and exposing a humiliating picture hidden under a skirt that he would like to never see again.

— What are you doing? — he wants to turn around and finally put you in your place, hoping that this will accelerate the approach of the long-awaited moment when this stupid outfit will leave his body forever.

But he remains motionless.

As if paralyzed, he sharply exhales air from his lungs when he feels your palms slide up from his shins, lingering on his muscular thighs. Tiny fingers press into tense muscles and Blade feels even more confused and annoyed. You're groping his body so brazenly, making him feel vulnerable, as if he's being blatantly harassed right now.

— I never would have thought that this dress would suit you so well… I'm sorry, I can't help myself, — you say breathlessly, while your fingers continue to possessively squeeze, massage and stroke his thighs through the stretched threads of tights. The tips of your fingers playfully slip under the thin mesh to feel the warmth of his body even more and explore every soft scar covering his legs.

Blade is distraught. Although you have always been the one who clearly dominates him morally in your relationship, physically he has always taken over, controlling everything that happens within your bedroom, and sometimes outside it. And now you've made him numb from the symphony of opposites raging in his chest. He wanted to grab your cheeky wrists and turn around, pressing your body into the wall behind, he wanted to dig into your lips with a rough kiss and remind you that it's his hands that should master every curve of your body, but he also wanted you not to stop.

Blade's chest heaves, threatening to tear the fabric stretched to the limit, as a heavy sigh escapes from his throat. One of your palms abruptly switches to his groin, groping for a surprisingly firm erection. His cock twitches in your palm, and your lips stretch in a smug grin. Blade remains silent, but if you could see his face now, you would be able to capture in your memory the most delightful aggressively embarrassed expression. He is literally shaking from the fact that his body reacts so treacherously to what is happening.

— I feel that you had to like it, but it should have been a punishment, — you rise on your toes to reach his neck, pressing your lips into the throbbing curve, leaving a wet kiss on the skin heated with embarrassment before pulling away.

Blade was almost ready to whine at the way the warmth of your hand left his hard organ, but instead his jaws close and he growls, turning around to you just in time for you to kneel down, climbing under the hem of a full skirt and pulling tights over his legs. He would have almost staggered back if it weren't for the grip of your hands, now pressing into his tight thighs again. Blade's lips open, threatening to pour out on you all the discontent swirling on the tip of his tongue, but he immediately swallows any curse that pops up in his thoughts when the warmth of your mouth envelops his needy cock. You dig into him so greedily, squeezing the throbbing flesh with soft lips, swallowing him deeper and deeper with each new movement of your head, ignoring any vomiting. For some reason, right now, seeing Blade like this, a passionate desire has awakened in you to make him moan sweetly to the wet sounds of your lips sliding over his hard erection.

It's so hard for him to breathe. The thick fabric tightens his chest tightly whenever he holds back another velvet growl escaping from his throat. He's so damn mad at you for making him feel so insecure and pathetic, but your narrow throat squeezes so deliciously around his girth while you recklessly take him whole, desperate to please him, that your persistence even amuses Blade. Right now he just wanted to see your face under that irritatingly long skirt, blocking him from any view of what was happening under it.

— Damn… remember that you brought it to this.

The muscles of his chest are straining to the limit, tearing the fabric that was desperately held to the last, finally allowing him to breathe and move normally. Blade pulls down the hem of your skirt, grabbing you by the hair and forcing you to your feet. His eyes meet yours, blinking in discouragement in response to his fierce gaze, as if you are a little guilty kitten who was picked up by the scruff of the neck.

— It seems to me that this stupid outfit has misled you that you can have any control over me.

— Ho-oh, wasn't it like that when you got turned on just because I squeezed your thighs? — you finally regain your former confidence by fearlessly mocking him. — By the way, although I have never worn these clothes, it was not necessary to tear them! – you look with sadness at the fabric that has parted on his chest, sadly realizing the fact that next time you will not be able to get him to wear this dress again. But your disappointment did not settle in your heart for too long when your gaze fell on the heaving voluminous chest, strewn with scars, which did not cease to cause this sweet heat in the bottom of your stomach, no matter how many times you had not seen it before.

— Shut up. You're going to pay for the fact that I had to wear these disgusting things at all, — Blade literally spits out these words before turning you around to face the wall, still painfully winding your hair around his fist. The air is knocked out of your lungs as soon as your chest and cheek meet a hard surface, and you gasp at the unexpected change of roles.

Your underwear instantly descends to your ankles, and the miniature skirt lifts up, revealing to Blade a view of your ass, the flesh of which instantly turns red from the lashing blow of his heavy palm. You flinch, and a cry of pain bursts from your throat when his blows are repeated over and over again, while his other hand releases your hair just to tinker with the fluffy skirt of a ridiculous suit. You can only hear the rustling of the fabric and the light ringing sound from his earring, swaying with each new blow. Burning with irritation and animal excitement, scarlet eyes notice the shiny moisture flowing down your trembling thighs. You've always been so greedy for any manifestation of his absolute dominance over your body that it's even touching.

The unnerving fabric rolls down on his belt and his hips immediately move forward, forcing you to press into the wall even harder from the delicious feeling of stretching and fullness when his hard cock easily plunges into your insides. Any hint of disobedience leaves your thoughts as soon as his hips begin to whiplash against your ass, forcing you to jump from each painful blow of his penis entering you all the way.

— Next time you'll think twice before forcing me to do something equally humiliating, — hoarse moans come out of Blade's chest as his strong fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, holding you in place, tightly pressed against the wall.

You feel the knot at the bottom of your stomach trembling and tightening, bringing you closer to the edge of your pleasure. His cock tirelessly stretches your walls that are contracting around his girth, ruthlessly cutting into the cervix every time his hips move forward, making you feel a hellish mixture of pain and pleasure that drives you crazy. You can almost see the bright light blurring your eyes when his movements suddenly stop with the last deep thrust, leaving his throbbing cock in the depths of your walls spasming in the coming orgasm. The blood is wildly accelerating through the veins that wrap around this divine member, which cruelly stopped all movements, forcing you to feel pleasant pulsations that keep you on the edge of the abyss, but not allowing you to step forward.

— B-Blade, please!.. — you whine, sobbing softly and making pathetic attempts to move your hips, which are immediately stopped by his stone grip on your buttocks.

— What is it? — Blade's voice is laced with annoying complacency. — Are you uncomfortable? Do you want me to continue?

— Yes!

— Then I guess you'll have to ask properly.

His chest rises and falls with each heavy sigh. He can see tears of despair welling up in your eyes as you squirm and squirm in his grip, trying to regain at least a little stimulation.

— P-please…

— What? I didn't hear you.

His heavy palm meets your ass again, pulling a pitiful cry out of your throat. You sob, transparent beads of tears roll down your cheeks.

— What is it? Are you speechless already?

One more blow and then his free palm wraps around your throat, forcing you to tilt your head back to meet his gaze as Blade looms over you, gazing intently at the mixture of despair and pain painted on your face.

— Please, Blade, please! I want so much… I want to cum, please…

The moment of his silence, while he reveled in the way your voice cracked, breaking into sobs, lasted like an eternity.

— Good girl.

You didn't have time to realize that, it seems, Blade finally heard what he wanted, as his hips again set the same ruthless pace, crashing into you at breakneck speed. His earring swayed with a soft tinkle from each sharp push, merging with the sounds of his hoarse growl and your stifled moans of pleasure. Blade could feel your walls squeezing his cock tight again, resisting every violent movement tearing your insides apart. His movements became careless, the rhythm lost, turning into a blind pursuit of his own pleasure.

This sweet feeling overwhelms your body again and your nails are pressed into a hard wall in despair. You could feel his cock swell and shudder inside, and the hoarse growl breaks into quiet moans. With the last careless but hard and rough thrusts, Blade tightens his grip on your buttocks, immediately leaving bruises on your skin under the pads of his fingers before bursting out of your insides, leaving you to spasm around emptiness as an intense orgasm covers you. Your ass, red from blows, as well as the hem of the skirt crumpled on Blade's belt, are splashed with sticky hot streams of sperm. You go limp, kneeling on the floor, when he finally lets go of your throat and hips, catching his breath after his climax.

Both of you are breathing heavily, trying to come to your senses again. You lazily rest your palms against the wall, trying to get to your feet, and finally turn around to Blade. When you came up with such a humiliating punishment for him, you could not even think that you would ever see something as beautiful as what now appeared before your eyes. The sweat-damp strands of Blade's long bangs stuck to his forehead, misty fiery eyes stare at you from under heavy half-closed eyelids, his chest rises and falls in time with his ragged breathing, peeking out of a torn black fabric and a crumpled white apron that has slipped off one of his shoulders, and the skirt is still pulled up at the waist decorated with white spots, exposing to you a view of his semi-hard penis, slightly trembling in his palm, trembling legs and stretched mesh tights, concertina gathered at the level of his ankles. Now you are literally speechless, finding this sight so beautiful that it will forever be imprinted in the subcortex of your memory.

Blade sighs heavily before lazily sinking onto the sofa behind him.

— Now this disgusting costume is finally ruined, what a pity, — his lips slightly stretch in a barely noticeable smile.

His words seem to bring you out of deep hypnosis, bringing you to your senses again. You straighten up, shifting your gaze from his hips to his smug expression on his face.

— It's okay, I'll buy a new one for next time, especially for you!

Someday he'll just strangle you while you're sleeping soundly.

[ultrone]

✶ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 ꒱

synopsis. u steal ur girlfriend's sweatshirt

cw. no pronouns, just fluff & amber being moody

wc. 1.2k

Amber woke up to her alarm ringing, and as she rubbed her sleepy eyes, she realized it was Monday morning. She let out a deep sigh, knowing that it would be a long day at school. As she exited her bed, she glanced at her closet, searching for her favourite sweatshirt. But to her dismay, it wasn't there.

"Where the fuck is it?" Amber muttered to herself.

She had to find it, she just had to. It was the one that you had given her as a present, and ever since you told her how much you loved it on her, it had become her absolute favourite. She searched through her closet again, hoping that it would magically appear. She even checked her drawers, under her bed, and in her laundry basket, but still no luck. Amber felt a wave of frustration building inside her as she realized that she might have to go to school without it.

"Ugh, why does this always happen to me?" Amber groaned as she pulled out a plain black hoodie from her closet. It wasn't the end of the world, she reminded herself. It was just a sweatshirt. But it was the one you gave her, damn it, and she wanted to wear it.

She checked the time on her phone and realized that she was already running late. With a resigned sigh, Amber slipped on the black hoodie and headed out the door.

Amber found herself struggling to concentrate in class, feeling bored and disinterested. To make matters worse, she had already started her morning off on the wrong foot, and the only thing that could improve her mood was seeing you — though she knew she wouldn't be able to until third block. As she zoned out, she barely registered when Wes leaned over to talk to her.

"Hey, Amber, you look grumpier than usual today," Wes said, trying to be funny.

Amber snapped back, "Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Wes. Maybe if this class wasn't so mind-numbingly boring, I'd have a reason to smile."

Wes raised his hands in surrender, realizing he had touched a nerve. The class continued in silence until Amber's phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out to see a text from her girlfriend, causing a soft smile to spread across her face.

Seeing her sudden change in demeanour, Chad, who was sitting at the same table, piped up, "What got you so smiley, Amber? Did y/n text you?"

Wes and Chad chuckled, but it was clear they were just teasing her. Amber rolled her eyes and told them to shut up before she started typing a reply to her girlfriend.

y/n: can’t wait to see u later, i miss u :(

amber: i miss u too babe, can’t wait to get outta here and see ur beautiful face

y/n: awww ily ambs <33 i want it to be third block already

amber: i know, me too. i'm so bored in this stupid math class. wes is being annoying as usual.

y/n: lmaooo what's he doing now?

amber: just making dumb jokes with chad

y/n: well, just ignore them and think about how we're gonna have so much fun in PE later 😛

amber: oh yeah, so much fun in PE. just what i always look forward to, sweating my ass off and smelling like a gym locker.

amber: but hey, at least i get to stare at your tits, they bounce so nicely when you run ;)

y/n: LMAOO stfu ihy 😭

amber: 😙

As the minutes ticked by, both you and Amber continued to exchange messages, eagerly counting down the moments until you could be together again. Amber was so lost in conversation that she barely noticed the bell ringing, signalling the end of class. With a start, she realized that she needed to hurry to make it to the gym on time for PE. Quickly gathering her things, she rushed out of the classroom and made her way toward the gym, feeling her heart race with excitement at the thought of seeing you again.

As Amber made her way to the gym, her mind drifted back to the missing sweatshirt. She always wore it to PE, and now she was left without it. But worse than that, she knew that you would notice it was missing, and she felt bad for losing something that you had given her.

As she walked in, she saw her classmates getting ready for the class. They were all laughing and chatting, but Amber didn't feel like joining in. As Amber scanned the gym, she noticed that you were nowhere to be seen. Disappointed, she walked toward the lockers to get changed, hoping to see you there.

As Amber arrived at the lockers, she realized that you weren't there either. She quickly texted you asking where you were, but didn't receive a reply. She decided to get dressed and closed her locker, ready to head out to the gym.

Just as she was about to leave the locker room, you suddenly appeared from behind her and scared her.

"Jesus! What the fuck?" she exclaimed, jumping slightly. But as soon as she saw it was you, she relaxed and let out a laugh.

You immediately jumped into her arms, planting kisses all over her face, making her blush.

As Amber hugged you tightly, you continued to pepper her face with kisses, making her giggle uncontrollably. She then leaned in and gave you a quick kiss on the lips, savoring the feeling of your soft lips against hers.

But then, Amber's eyes fell on your sweatshirt, and she furrowed her brows in confusion. "Wait a minute," she said, mock-anger creeping into her voice. "Isn't that my sweatshirt?"

You looked down at the sweatshirt you were wearing and grinned sheepishly. "Uh, yeah. You left it at my place yesterday and I didn't want to say anything because it smells like you." You gave her your best puppy-dog eyes, hoping to win her over.

Amber looked at you with a mock stern expression before rolling her eyes and smiling. "I was looking for that all morning, you know," she teased. "But I guess now it'll smell like you too, so I'm okay with it." She leaned in to give you a sweet kiss on the lips. "But you better give it back to me after class or I’ll kill you," she said, her tone lighthearted and teasing. She didn't mind that you were wearing her hoodie; in fact, she found it endearing. But she couldn't resist a chance to tease you.

"Of course, of course," you said, grinning at her. "I wouldn't dare keep it from you. You know how much I value my life." You playfully crossed your heart with your fingers, pretending to be scared. "But can I at least wear it until the end of the day? It's so cozy, and it smells like you." You leaned in and nuzzled your nose against her neck, taking a deep breath to inhale the sweet scent of her hair.

"Mmm, sure. I suppose I can allow that for now," Amber said with a playful smirk. "But don't get too comfortable, because I'm coming for my sweatshirt after school." She ran her fingers through your hair and gave you a gentle kiss on the forehead before taking your hand and leading you towards the gym.

[rockingrobin69]

Peppers, please

(Also on AO3, 1.6k)

“I’ve been informed,” Harry Potter burst through the door with his habitual earth-quake of a shout, “that you don’t even like peppers!”

“Good morning,” Draco said dryly. Harry Potter glared.

With a sigh, Draco retreated to the kitchen to fetch the biscuits from the cupboard.

Around his third one, an insistent crumb hanging to his upper lip with all its tiny might: “Peppers, Malfoy!”

“Pardon?”

“Peppers!”

Draco blinked. “If you’ll be so kind as to tell me what on earth you’re on about.”

“Pansy said you hate them!”

He looked absolutely outraged. Draco sipped his long-cold tea.

“Do I?”

“She said you’re allergic!”

“Am I?”

“Stop—fucking with me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare.” But the corner of his lips was twitching. “I’m not allergic. I was simply a horribly dramatic child and she still naïve back when we were, what, six. Seven. I’m fine with peppers now.”

Harry Potter pouted, terribly chipmunk-ish, and even put the biscuit pack down. Down to business. “I cooked the—bloody hell, Malfoy, just, honestly. Why wouldn’t you say? That you hate peppers. I would’ve made something else. I would have happily—why?”

Utterly bemused, “I am. Honest, I mean. I don’t mind peppers anymore.”

“That’s a fucking lie and we both know it.”

Grasping at straws and failing, at least managing to stop the wobble of his stupid mouth, the automatic turning downwards. Went for his cup instead. The tea was ice-cold and flavourless and Draco poured it down his throat like it could cure him.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he then said, venomous, and turned his eyes back to the wall, where they refused to stay. It was always like this when Harry Potter barged into his flat. Even the water stains on the ceiling lost their usual allure and could not hold his attention. “If it’s raining, cast a bloody Impervious. Or take an umbrella.”

Harry Potter took a deep breath instead, sounding awfully, weirdly small. Some of the tension bled out of him in increments, his shoulders first, then the fists unclenching, then his belly un-hardening. His jaw was last. Draco was helplessly mesmerised by the transformation.

“You’re impossible,” his voice finally not straining, his fingers not twitching towards the biscuits. No longer needing the obvious distraction. “Next time, if I make something you dislike, you have to tell me.”

“An order,” Draco huffed. “How sweet.”

Harry Potter could blush all the way to the roots of his hair. It was such a stunning, breath-stealing thing to witness.

“It’s not a… fuck you, Malfoy.”

“Hmm.”

They sat there in strangely amicable silence. The oven still gave that choking, desperate cough every ten seconds, and it set a nice framework for their breathing, for the non-fidgeting. Harry Potter was always fidgety, but not when he sat in Draco’s kitchen like this.

“What’s your schedule? For today. Nev said you’re doing overtime again.” Leaning back, giving Draco that look all his friends liked to wear, the one on the border of a telling-off. It didn’t usually work on him, but Harry Potter had a slight edge to his disappointment that made Draco’s skin crawl.

“Not—exactly. Shouldn’t be so late. I’ll be home for bedtime, Mother, I promise.”

Even his mother didn’t glare like that. “Third time this week? I kind of want to strangle your boss.”

“Ha. Violence is usually frowned upon in the workplace.”

He didn’t smile, but he came near it. Draco could tell, because the corners of his eyes were dancing. “Does it count if it isn’t my workplace?”

“Mm. Fair enough. Strangle away.”  

Now he was smiling. “When d’you start? Want a ride?”

And Draco was so grateful he didn’t launch yet another tirade about how Draco should quit his awful job that he said, “Why not.” (Only because he was distracted and rather tired, and not because sitting behind Harry Potter on his motorbike was in itself half-punishment, and not because clinging to his waist on tight turns at far-too-quick was—anything at all). On the downside, it made Harry Potter practically beam, and Draco still needed his eyes.

“Great! I mean. That’s good. That you won’t be late. Bad for your, er, record, and stuff, and you might not get a—bonus or something.”

They didn’t do bonuses at McMillan & McMillan, but that was neither here nor there. Draco nodded, pushed himself up on not so flimsy legs, collected his coat from where it was crumpled on the back of a chair.

“What about lunch?”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t take. Any lunch.”

Why was he so obsessed with food? It was dangerously endearing. “I have an apple in my bag. Come now, you promised I won’t be late.”

“An—” Harry Potter shook his head, loosening even more curls out of his bun. They were rain-flat and miserable and still entirely too sweet. “I’ll buy you a sandwich at that poor excuse for a cafeteria you got in that building. And so help me god, Malfoy, you’ll eat it, or—”

“All right,” both hands up, “no need to shout. Your wish is my command, etcetera.”

He pouted so hard it was almost comical. But there was something still wounded there, so Draco added, “As long as there’s peppers, you know,” and then he was fuming again, bouncing on the balls of his feet and ready to deliver yet-another lecture. Draco watched him, amused, and forgot to lock the door behind him, and forgot his scarf.

Did remember his umbrella, which he Leviosa-ed to follow the Death Machine, stuck it against the back of the silly jacket when they reached the office. It wasn’t raining anymore, thankfully allowing Draco to arrive not wet-dog for a change, and it made absolutely no difference.

Harry Potter took off his helmet to watch Draco enter the building. Didn’t follow him inside (wise, to prevent a murder), and so Draco completely forgot about the sandwich threat until it was roughly lunchtime. At which point, a drawer in his desk suddenly jumped open, and a far-too-fancy £12 bready monstrosity appeared. On it a note that scrawled pepper-free, git.

Harry Potter had a lot to answer for. Draco, distracted, chipped away at the sandwich all the same, and was only shouted at twice, and didn’t even spill coffee on his keyboard.

‘Not exactly overtime’ at the office meant staying after everyone else to take note of stock and arrange all the impossible paperwork. That Draco was given this task was already hilarious, and always a disaster: that his boss insisted on continuing to give it to him, possibly commendable. Maybe he thought Draco was being stubborn. Maybe he thought, nobody could really be this bad without actively trying. Well, he didn’t know Draco yet! There was always time to learn.

Stock was stocked. The backroom was stuffy and still smelling slightly of smoke (not Draco’s fault, probably), the sweet scent of old paperwork going to rot. It made his head spin, made him inhale a little brokenly and laugh to himself. The sandwich Harry Potter forced him to eat sat heavy in his belly, sweating. Everything was so incredibly laughable.

When he finally finished (after only forgetting three steps in the protocol), the sun had long set and the streetlights were humming. Not worrying, Draco thought, going back to the office (forgot his bag). Not worrying at all (back to the office, to check he locked the door). (Why would anyone give him the keys?) (Some disasters were just asking to happen).

On his way home he stopped by the corner shop for another pack of biscuits. Some disasters, sure, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t prepare in advance. Harry Potter would surge in soon enough with another grievance. Draco was giddy by nature, and so the shakiness was not necessarily to do with this.

Under the crescent moon drowning in cloud he wondered, do I hate peppers?

Couldn’t remember to decide by the time he made it back.

The flat, Harry-Potter-less, was not entirely quiet and frankly disinteresting. Draco forced himself in the shower (the smoky smell always caught in hair, then on pillows, and made sleep be—not sleep at all). Scrubbed, whatever. Even towelled himself dry like a real human being, and only slipped a little on the stupid rug he kept meaning to banish, to Vanish, to—chuck. He was tired. The smoke-thing was not a metaphor. He got barely the bare minimum last night.

Bear minimum? Like bear claws? Better than fire, he thought, nonsensically. Tired-Draco had a tired brain and it was only half-working in the best of times. Dragged himself to bed, knew he won’t get away that easy.

To the ceiling, too dark to make the water stains: what did Harry Potter have for his lunch? He always ate, but only when he made Draco eat too. It was some sort of ritual. A demonic binding of sorts. They had other friends who could make him eat, like Ronald and also Ronald and mostly only Ronald, and sometimes Hermione. They had other friends, but Harry Potter always ate if Draco did.

A horrible thought suddenly occurred to him: was he manipulating Harry Potter? Had he truly forgotten to pack lunch, or did he do that on purpose? Thankfully, the panic was cut off when he suddenly thought, shit, I never locked the office.

But he did. He went back to check, remember? Silly. By the time he was thinking of Harry Potter’s eating habit, he forgot to fidget about whether he was viciously tricking him or not.

Some disasters, Draco thought, half-drifting, were just asking to happen.

So, it's on AO3. It might even continue, who knows.

[ultralightpoe]

Pearl, Peach and Pomegranate - Tangerine

Authors Note: I am working on requests rn but I had to write this because it’s been stuck in my head all dayyyyyy -- Let me know if you want more of this little family?

Description: The Three times Tangerine meets the loves of his life

Warnings: birth giving

Word Count: 1730

If you like Taylor Swift and my writng then look at my writing event I have HERE! I think you will really enjoy it! 

Enjoy!

Pearl  

You were having a good day, this much Tan knew. 

He had been watching you for days, sitting in the back booth of a pub near a mission he had taken, with his brother. They still had two more weeks of work and Tan was just fine with spending every second he could sitting right here…..watching you. 

“You should go talk to her.” Lemon offers, playing the straw of his lemonade, smiling a bit when Tan shakes his head. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“She could hear me, mate.” Tangerine snaps, his face thrown in an incredulous look as if the thought was the worst thing he had ever heard. His rings glint in the light as he grabs the empty glass in front of him and breathes out. 

“Well you need another drink.”

“She seems busy.” Lemon laughs at this, gesturing to where you were polishing glasses with no one bothering you. “Okay okay. Fine.”

Risking one last glance at his brother before sitting up and scooting out of the booth, taking three easy strides across the bar until his hands touch the wooden bartop that separates you from him. You don’t notice him at first, which he is affronted and glad for, and he took a second to watch you a bit closer. 

You were pretty from a distance but at this angle you were absolutely stunning, from your hair to your outfit all the way to the pearl dangly earrings you wore in your ear. 

“Oh hey! Sorry, what can I get for ya?” You smile and he swears he feels his heart stop. It takes him a minute to clear his throat and come up with a good response, a heat traveling his skin. 

“How about your number?” Smooth. Bloody smooth. 

“Or maybe you can start with my name?” You laugh, reaching a hand out to him. “I’m Y/n.”

“Tangerine.” He responds, reaching to shake your hand and there is a zap when your skin hits his. 

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were using code names.” You tease, shaking your head. 

“Get a grip, pearl. Catch on.” He laughs, sitting on the stool to stare at you.

“Pearl?”

“Yeah, my lil’ pearl.”

—---------------------

Peach 

“How ya doin’ love?” Tangerine asks, decked out in protective hospital scrubs, leaning down to kiss your forehead as you grunted in pain for the hundredth time. 

You were covered in sweat, tears sliding down your cheeks, and his hand had lost feeling 10 minutes ago due to your tight grip but Tan had never been so in love with you. Which was astounding considering he worshiped the ground you walked on. The pearl wedding ring you wore began digging into his hand as you yelled out while the doctors began trying to do breathing exercises with you and you tried to keep your cool, you really did. But the second the sweet short nurse started handing you another ice chip you lost it a bit. “Get the fuck OUT OF MY SPACE WITH YOUR UNMELTED WATER!”

A laugh crawls up Tans throat that is quickly diminished when he sees the nurse give you a dirty look, a protective anger washes over him and he reaches a hand over to snatch the cup from her. “I can handle this, yeah? Why don’t ya’ go hover over another pregnant lady?”

His eyebrows are pinched together and when he leans forward to give her his best ‘fuck around and find out’ look the gold chain he always wears pops out of the scrubs and flashes. You hum, coming down from a contraction and your hold on his right hand softens the slightest bit. 

The nurse, apparently not as stupid as he thought, backs out and removes herself from the room. The second the door closes he turns to you and leans his head in, allowing you to smell the peppermint he loved so much. “Say the word Pearl, and I’ll go handle her.”

“Easy there tiger.” You laugh, letting go of his hand to reach up and hold the back of his shirt and draw him in. “No death on our baby's day.”

So he listened, and he is thankful he was here for this because 2 hours later you were holding a small bundle in your arms as Tan paced the room anxiously. The doctors had left to check all the test results to make sure the baby was okay leaving you three alone in the room. 

The purple bundle (Lemon had insisted purple was a lucky color for babies and made a blanket himself) was so silent and terrifying that Tan had to stay on the other side of the room. 

He, for the first time in his fucking life, felt so vile. Like he would taint the air his daughter breathed, his pure precious daughter. 

“Would you stop pacing and come hold her?” You ask, a soft look on your face.

“I…..Pearl I can’t-” He chokes up, body tightening and eyes welling with tears. “I don’t wanna hurt her.”

“My arms are so tired, please?” It was a lie, but he didn’t need to know that, but you knew the only way he’d get over his fear is if he thought you were in pain. Within moments he was across the room, hands shaking as he slowly picked her up into his arms and sat in the chair beside your bed. 

Tangerine had been on countless missions where he had to keep himself contained in order not to get caught, and yet never once in his life had he ever sat so still. He couldn’t risk hurting the……

And that’s when he sees her, looking down on the sweetest face he has ever seen, peacefully sleeping. Tears began flowing from his eyes and you laughed lightly as you watched, crying yourself. 

“How do we feel about the name Peach?” You finally ask after a moment of crying and Tangerine could do nothing else but nod. Because at that moment he knew he would tear out his own heart for his little girl, his sweet baby Peach. 

—------------------

Pomegranate 

He was still covered in blood by the time the plane landed, Lemon panting by his side as they raced through the airport with tons of people turning to stare at them. If this was any other day he would have changed into a fresh suit and tried to hide the proof of what he had just done. 

But he had no time to fuck around today. 

You had told him you had a feeling something was gonna happen before he left, and the both of you assumed that feeling revolved around him getting hurt on the mission, so he had promised to stay safe and kissed you passionately before he bent down to kiss Peach’s head and left. 

Little did he know that your feeling would end up meaning you would go into labor 8 days early and he would miss the birth of his second daughter. 

“Lemon, hurry THE FUCK UP!” He barks when they reach the parking lot, rushing to the cars in the back and both finding the first one that was unlocked and throwing their stuff in the back. 

Lemon sets his bag down  lightly, shaking his head when Tangerine chucks his own on top. “Be careful, yeah? I got that gift for Peach in there.”

Lemon had taken his job as godfather very seriously and now every place they went he collected an ornament for your daughter so she could hang it on her little pine in the backyard. 

“Yeah yeah. Your Peach’s favorite blah blah blah. Shut the fuck up mate.” Tan snaps, hopping in the drivers seat and hotwiring the car. “I got her a barbie.”

“She likes G.I. Joes.”

“Well France didn’t have any fucking- you know what? I don’t have to explain myself to you because the barbie I got was cool. Yeah? So fucking awesome. Wearin’ scrubs and everything so why don’t ya piss off?” 

Lemon shakes his head, obviously amused and holds on tight as his brother tears through the streets like a wild man. By the time they actually make it to the house the car is nearly out of gas and definitely burnt through the oil. 

The second he has it parked he is rushing out, racing up the front steps and opening the front door. 

Peach squeals in excitement, dropping the two figurines she had been playing with, and jumping across the room to dive into his arms. 

“There she is! My plump little Peach!” Tan sighs, wrapping his arms around her tightly and pulling her in. Every worry seemed to vanish when you or your daughter hugged him and for that he was eternally grateful. “Where is ma?”

“Upstairs!” She smiles, pulling out of his hug much to his chagrin and dragging him up the stairs to the nursery he had set up a month before he left. 

The door is silent when he cracks it open, but his daughter stomps across the room calling for you. You smile, sitting up in the rocking chair when you see them both, and fix the bundle you were holding so he could get a better look.

He never wanted to meet his second child covered in blood, and he was embarrassed at the fact that this is how his new baby would meet him at all. Not that it mattered considering she wouldn’t actually recognize colors or remember this when she grows up. 

You hand her off, kissing the top of the blanket before moving to pick up Peach so she didn’t feel left out. Tangerine tries to catch his breath as the baby blinks at him, waking up and looking straight at him.

“She’s looking at me.” He says, heart beating out of his chest. Suddenly the baby smiles and coos and he feels like throwing up in excitement. 

“She must recognize your voice.” You smile, bringing Peach closer to see. 

“What did you name her?”

“Well I figured we had a tradition to uphold and since I was craving Pomegranate seeds for 9 months it seemed fitting to name her…”

“Pomegranate.” He smiles, a laugh escaping him. “Oh she’s gonna grow up hatin’ us for that one. I love it.”

“Hey papa?”

“Yeah Peach?”

“What is all over you?”

“Uhm…..paint?” 

(If you like Taylor Swift and my writing take a look at my writing event for April HERE! I think you will really like it! Let me know if you want more of Tangerine and his two daughters!)

[once-upon-an-imagine]

heyy ok so I have this idea with maybe remus lupin or any smart character but your the writer whatever you think best is probably best, anyways so reader is failing a class and is assigned a tutor which would be the character. Anyways character is very in love with the reader and is nervous/flustered  but the reader is more outgoing/flirtyafter a couple lessons at the end the character asked “anymore questions?” And the reader goes “yeah when are you going to ask me out? ”KINDA CRINGE LOOKING BACK BUT TYSM BYE 💜💜💜💜

- submitted by @they-only-want-you-when-your-17

--------

this is sooo cute! I loved it too much, love! I hope you like it too! 😊Warnings: none, this is pure fluffDisclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter 😊 gif isn’t mine 😊

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Ask Me Out?

You hated Potions. Not just because it was your earliest class and you weren’t a morning person. But because you were absolutely dreadful at it. You insisted it wasn’t your fault. It was your partner’s. When Professor Slughorn decided to make Remus Lupin your partner, you knew it would be useless. 

You were never able to concentrate with him sitting next to you. Maybe it was because he started wearing his hair differently this year. Or because he smelled stupidly good. Or how shy he got whenever he was around you. Or because he had the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. Or because his friends and your friends kept making stupid faces at you so you would make the first move. 

Things got so bad, that Professor Slughorn suggested you got someone to tutor you for this class, and, much to your luck, Remus had volunteered himself to be said tutor. So, not only did you have to control yourself in his class, but now you were spending two afternoons a week with Remus at the Library or the Common Room, trying to listen to what he actually said, instead of getting lost in his beautiful smile. 

“Are you listening to me?” Remus asked, suddenly snapping you out of your thoughts. 

“I uh-” you said, sitting straight instead of resting your head on your hand. “Y-yes, of course, I was, Rem” you cleared your throat. 

“Really?” Remus asked with a beautiful smirk. “Then what is the last ingredient you have to add to the Draught of Living Death before you stir it anti-clockwise?” 

“Oh, uh- w-well, the um… the bean?” you tried with a small smile. 

“Which bean?” 

“I’m guessing not Bertie Bott’s beans?” 

“No” he laughed adorably. “The Sopophorous Bean-”

“Sopophorous Bean” you quickly repeated. “See? That was my second guess!” you insisted and Remus glared at you a little. “I’m sorry, Remus” you sighed. “I know you probably have better things to do with your time than being stuck here trying to teach the unteachable” you laughed. 

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself” he said, his look softening. “You’re not unteachable. You’re doing a lot better now” he encouraged you. 

“Well, to be fair, it’s way more pleasant to look at you and listen to you than to Professor Slughorn” you said, loving the way his cheeks blushed a little. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment” he chuckled. 

“It was” you said, resting your head on your hand again and smiling at him. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Uh, sure” he said, looking through his book. 

“Why did you volunteer to tutor me?” you asked, interested. 

“W-what do you mean?” he asked, nervously. “I mean, you needed help-”

“Well, yes, but I think everyone else would have run for the hills if they had to spend some time with me with fire and so many things that explode around” you shrugged. 

“You’re not that bad” he laughed a little. 

“Remus, I’ve burned more cauldrons than James and Sirius together” you reminded him. 

“W-well, that may be true, but you’re really trying” he reminded you. “So, I’m happy to help as much as I can” he said with a small smile. 

“Well, that’s very sweet of you, Rem” you said, making him look away. “I’m sorry, does it bother you when I call you that? I heard you telling Sirius once you didn’t like it-”

“N-no!” he replied quickly. The only reason he didn’t like Sirius calling him that, was because he did it mocking you. “I don’t mind when uh- when you call me that” he muttered nervously. “Sirius is… just an idiot” he said. 

“Oh” you smiled. “Well, okay” you told him, sitting a little closer to him. 

“Okay, so I think that’s it for today” he said, closing his book before turning to you again. “Anymore questions?” 

“Yeah, just one” you said and Remus nodded for you to go on. “When are you going to ask me out?”

“Uh- w-what-? Um- I’m sorry?” 

“Well, I was just… wondering if you were planning on ever asking me out?” you told him. 

“Y-you want me to ask you out?” 

“If you’d like” you smirked. 

“Well, I um- I would like that, very much” he smiled. 

“Really?” you asked, excitedly. 

“Y-yeah, the only reason why I haven’t asked you is because, I wasn’t sure if y-you’d want me to” he said. “So, um… would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? We can celebrate your ‘O’ on tomorrow’s exam” he said. 

“I would love to go to Hogsmeade with you, Rem” you smiled. “But, I think you’re shooting for the stars, thinking I’ll get an ‘O’, I’ll be lucky if I get an ‘A’” you told him.

“We’ll see” he smiled. 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“REMUS!” 

Remus looked up from the book he was reading and he saw you run down the hallway at full speed, causing you to trip and fall but you quickly got back up, and composed yourself, ignoring the laughter and stares from everyone as you made your way to where he was standing with his friends. 

“Are you okay, love?” Remus asked as soon as you reached them

“I’m fine- uh- d-did you just call me love?” you asked with a big smile on your face and feeling your heart flutter at the blush appearing on Remus’ cheeks. 

“I uh- is that okay?” 

“Yes, it is” you nodded happily. 

“Uh, are you okay?” James asked. 

“Yeah, that was a nasty fall” Sirius said, as he tried no to laugh. 

“Oh, I’m fine” you assured them as you tried to compose yourself. 

“You’re bleeding” Peter stated. 

“I am?” you asked, looking at your knee. “Oh, well, whatever is not that bad! Guess what?” you asked excitedly turning back to Remus. “I GOT AN ‘E’!” you said, showing him the parchment in your hands. 

“You got an ‘E’?” he asked, excitedly. 

“In Potions?” Sirius asked, grabbing the exam from you and looking through it.  

“I GOT AN ‘E’” you repeated wrapping your arms around his shoulders before you planted a big kiss on his lips. Remus was surprised for a second but he quickly wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“I’m really proud of you, love” Remus said, leaning in for another kiss. 

“Ew, get a room!” you heard Sirius yell when you pulled away and you noticed the blush on Remus’ cheeks was back. 

“Fuck off, Black!” 

The End

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

A/N: I hope you loves like it! :D